When my husband and I bought our first house together, part of its appeal (for me, anyway) was
the large vegetable garden cultivated by the home’s previous owner, George.

The 20-foot-square plot was already planted with tomatoes, peppers and other veggies by the time
we moved in.

George had built the house in 1948 and devoted decades to the garden, its soil rich from years
of compost. The garden began right about where the clothesline of his wife, Mary, ended in the big
backyard.

George and Mary, who were in their 80s at the time of the sale, had decided to move to a
condominium near one of their daughters.

The adjustment to condo living, we would learn, wasn’t without its problems: Mary wasn’t allowed
to put up a clothesline, and George had nowhere to plant a garden. (There was sufficient space for
one, but the condo rules prohibited it.)

Not content with patio pots, George proudly boasted to us how he outwitted the condo management
by planting his tomatoes among the landscaping, hiding them behind the bushes and other fancy
shrubs that decorated the grounds of the condo community. (Despite her best efforts, Mary couldn’t
devise a way to hide a clothesline.)

My husband and I chuckled at the thought of George’s tomato plants growing illicitly among the
shrubbery.

Now, karma is paying us a visit.

Here in Columbus, my husband and I decided to buy a condo instead of a traditional home. Facing
new jobs in a new city, we figured we might not have the hours to devote to gardening and yardwork.
A condo seemed like the practical choice.

We have some space for planting near our entryway, but condo rules permit only flowers.

George passed away a few years ago, and I suspect that he is enjoying a heavenly laugh as I
consider whether anyone would notice a tomato plant or two tucked among the annuals.

I had to restrain myself as I visited area farmers markets to prepare for the Food & Life
section today.